Considering the tax we pay for turnpikes, the roads of this county
constitute a most intolerable grievance. Between Newark and Weatherby,
I have suffered more from jolting and swinging than ever I felt in the
whole course of my life, although the carriage is remarkably commodious
and well hung, and the postilions were very careful in driving. I am now
safely housed at the New Inn, at Harrigate, whither I came to satisfy
my curiosity, rather than with any view of advantage to my health; and,
truly, after having considered all the parts and particulars of the
place, I cannot account for the concourse of people one finds here, upon
any other principle but that of caprice, which seems to be the character
of our nation.
Harrigate is a wild common, bare and bleak, without tree or shrub, or
the least signs of cultivation; and the people who come to drink the
water, are crowded together in paltry inns, where the few tolerable
rooms are monopolized by the friends and favourites of the house, and
all the rest of the lodgers are obliged to put up with dirty holes,
where there is neither space, air, nor convenience. My apartment is
about ten feet square; and when the folding bed is down, there is just
room sufficient to pass between it and the fire. One might expect,
indeed, that there would be no occasion for a fire at Midsummer; but
here the climate is so backward, that an ash tree, which our landlord
has planted before my window, is just beginning to put forth its leaves;
and I am fain to have my bed warmed every night.
As for the water, which is said to have effected so many surprising
cures, I have drank it once, and the first draught has cured me of all
desire to repeat the medicine.--Some people say it smells of rotten
eggs, and others compare it to the scourings of a foul gun.--It is
generally supposed to be strongly impregnated with sulphur; and Dr Shaw,
in his book upon mineral water, says, he has seen flakes of sulphur
floating in the well--Pace tanti viri; I, for my part, have never
observed any thing like sulphur, either in or about the well, neither do
I find that any brimstone has ever been extracted from the water. As
for the smell, if I may be allowed to judge from my own organs, it is
exactly that of bilge-water; and the saline taste of it seems to declare
that it is nothing else than salt water putrified in the bowels of the
earth. I was obliged to hold my nose with one hand, while I advanced the
glass to my mouth with the other; and after I had made shift to swallow
it, my stomach could hardly retain what it had received.--The only
effects it produced were sickness, griping, and insurmountable
disgust.--I can hardly mention it without puking.--The world is
strangely misled by the affectation of singularity. I cannot help
suspecting, that this water owes its reputation in a great measure
to its being so strikingly offensive.--On the same kind of analogy, a
German doctor has introduced hemlock and other poisons, as specifics,
into the materia medica.--I am persuaded, that all the cures ascribed
to the Harrigate water, would have been as efficaciously, and infinitely
more agreeably performed, by the internal and external use of seawater.
Sure I am, this last is much less nauseous to the taste and smell, and
much more gentle in its operation as a purge, as well as more extensive
in its medical qualities.
Two days ago we went across the country to visit ‘squire Burdock, who
married a first cousin of my father, an heiress, who brought him an
estate of a thousand a-year. This gentleman is a declared opponent
of the ministry in parliament; and having an opulent fortune, piques
himself upon living in the country, and maintaining old English
hospitality--By the bye, this is a phrase very much used by the English
themselves both in words and writing; but I never heard of it out of the
island, except by way of irony and sarcasm. What the hospitality of our
forefathers has been I should be glad to see recorded, rather in the
memoirs of strangers who have visited our country, and were the proper
objects and judges of such hospitality, than in the discourse and
lucubrations of the modern English, who seem to describe it from
theory and conjecture. Certain it is, we are generally looked upon by
foreigners, as a people totally destitute of this virtue; and I
never was in any country abroad, where I did not meet with persons of
distinction, who complained of having been inhospitably used in Great
Britain. A gentleman of France, Italy, or Germany, who has entertained
and lodged an Englishman at his house, when he afterwards meets with
his guest at London, is asked to dinner at the Saracen’s-head, the
Turk’s-head, the Boar’s-head, or the Bear, eats raw beef and butter,
drinks execrable port, and is allowed to pay his share of the reckoning.
But to return from this digression, which my feeling for the honour of
my country obliged me to make--our Yorkshire cousin has been a mighty
fox-hunter before the Lord; but now he is too fat and unwieldy to leap
ditches and five-bar gates; nevertheless, he still keeps a pack
of hounds, which are well exercised; and his huntsman every night
entertains him with the adventures of the day’s chace, which he recites
in a tone and terms that are extremely curious and significant. In the
mean time, his broad brawn is scratched by one of his grooms.--This
fellow, it seems, having no inclination to curry any beast out of the
stable, was at great pains to scollop his nails in such a manner that
the blood followed at every stroke.--He was in hopes that he would
be dismissed from this disagreeable office, but the event turned out
contrary to his expectation.--His master declared he was the best
scratcher in the family; and now he will not suffer any other servant to
draw a nail upon his carcase.
The ‘squire’s lady is very proud, without being stiff or inaccessible.
She receives even her inferiors in point of fortune with a kind of
arrogant civility; but then she thinks she has a right to treat them
with the most ungracious freedoms of speech, and never fails to let
them know she is sensible of her own superior affluence. In a word,
she speaks well of no living soul, and has not one single friend in
the world. Her husband hates her mortally; but, although the brute is
sometimes so very powerful in him that he will have his own way, he
generally truckles to her dominion, and dreads, like a school-boy, the
lash of her tongue. On the other hand, she is afraid of provoking him
too far, lest he should make some desperate effort to shake off her
yoke.--She, therefore, acquiesces in the proofs he daily gives of his
attachment to the liberty of an English freeholder, by saying and doing,
at his own table, whatever gratifies the brutality of his disposition,
or contributes to the ease of his person. The house, though large, is
neither elegant nor comfortable.--It looks like a great inn, crowded
with travellers, who dine at the landlord’s ordinary, where there is
a great profusion of victuals and drink, but mine host seems to be
misplaced; and I would rather dine upon filberts with a hermit, than
feed upon venison with a hog. The footmen might be aptly compared to the
waiters of a tavern, if they were more serviceable and less rapacious;
but they are generally insolent and inattentive, and so greedy, that, I
think, I can dine better, and for less expence, at the Star and Garter
in Pall mall, than at our cousin’s castle in Yorkshire. The ‘squire is
not only accommodated with a wife, but he is also blessed with an only
son, about two and twenty, just returned from Italy, a complete fidler
and dillettante; and he slips no opportunity of manifesting the most
perfect contempt for his own father.
When we arrived, there was a family of foreigners at the house, on a
visit to this virtuoso, with whom they had been acquainted at the Spa;
it was the count de Melville, with his lady, on their way to Scotland.
Mr Burdock had met with an accident, in consequence of which both the
count and I would have retired but the young gentleman and his mother
insisted upon our staying dinner; and their serenity seemed to be
so little ruffled by what had happened, that we complied with their
invitation. The ‘squire had been brought home over night in his
post-chaise, so terribly belaboured about the pate, that he seemed to
be in a state of stupefaction, and had ever since remained speechless. A
country apothecary, called Grieve, who lived in a neighbouring village,
having been called to his assistance, had let him blood, and applied a
poultice to his head, declaring, that he had no fever, nor any other bad
symptom but the loss of speech, if he really had lost that faculty.
But the young ‘squire said this practitioner was an ignorantaccio, that
there was a fracture in the cranium, and that there was a necessity for
having him trepanned without loss of time. His mother, espousing this
opinion, had sent an express to York for a surgeon to perform the
operation, and he was already come with his ‘prentice and instruments.
Having examined the patient’s head, he began to prepare his dressings;
though Grieve still retained his first opinion that there was no
fracture, and was the more confirmed in it as the ‘squire had passed the
night in profound sleep, uninterrupted by any catching or convulsion.
The York surgeon said he could not tell whether there was a fracture,
until he should take off the scalp; but, at any rate, the operation
might be of service in giving vent to any blood that might be
extravasated, either above or below the dura mater. The lady and her son
were clear for trying the experiment; and Grieve was dismissed with
some marks of contempt, which, perhaps, he owed to the plainness of his
appearance. He seemed to be about the middle age, wore his own black
hair without any sort of dressing; by his garb, one would have taken
him for a quaker, but he had none of the stiffness of that sect, on the
contrary he was very submissive, respectful, and remarkably taciturn.
Leaving the ladies in an apartment by themselves, we adjourned to the
patient’s chamber, where the dressings and instruments were displayed
in order upon a pewter dish. The operator, laying aside his coat and
periwig, equipped himself with a night-cap, apron, and sleeves, while
his ‘prentice and footman, seizing the ‘squire’s head, began to place
it in a proper posture.--But mark what followed.--The patient, bolting
upright in the bed, collared each of these assistants with the grasp of
Hercules, exclaiming, in a bellowing tone, ‘I ha’n’t lived so long in
Yorkshire to be trepanned by such vermin as you;’ and leaping on the
floor, put on his breeches quietly, to the astonishment of us all. The
Surgeon still insisted upon the operation, alleging it was now plain
that the brain was injured, and desiring the servants put him into
bed again; but nobody would venture to execute his orders, or even to
interpose: when the ‘squire turned him and his assistants out of doors,
and threw his apparatus out at the window. Having thus asserted his
prerogative, and put on his cloaths with the help of a valet, the count,
with my nephew and me, were introduced by his son, and received with his
usual stile of rustic civility; then turning to signor Macaroni, with a
sarcastic grin, ‘I tell thee what, Dick (said he), a man’s scull is not
to be bored every time his head is broken; and I’ll convince thee and
thy mother, that I know as many tricks as e’er an old fox in the West
Riding.’
We afterwards understood he had quarrelled at a public house with an
exciseman, whom he challenged to a bout at single stick, in which he had
been worsted; and that the shame of this defeat had tied up his tongue.
As for madam, she had shewn no concern for his disaster, and now heard
of his recovery without emotion--She had taken some little notice of
my sister and niece, though rather with a view to indulge her own
petulance, than out of any sentiment of regard to our family.--She said
Liddy was a fright, and ordered her woman to adjust her head before
dinner; but she would not meddle with Tabby, whose spirit, she soon
perceived, was not to be irritated with impunity. At table, she
acknowledged me so far as to say she had heard of my father; though
she hinted, that he had disobliged her family by making a poor match
in Wales. She was disagreeably familiar in her enquiries about our
circumstances; and asked, if I intended to bring up my nephew to the
law. I told her, that, as he had an independent fortune, he should
follow no profession but that of a country gentleman; and that I was not
without hopes of procuring for him a seat in parliament--‘Pray cousin
(said she), what may his fortune be?’ When I answered, that, with what
I should be able to give him, he would have better than two thousand a
year, she replied, with a disdainful toss of her head, that it would
be impossible for him to preserve his independence on such a paultry
provision.
Not a little nettled at this arrogant remark, I told her, I had the
honour to sit in parliament with her father, when he had little more
than half that income; and I believed there was not a more independent
and incorruptible member in the house. ‘Ay; but times are changed (cried
the ‘squire)--Country gentlemen now-a-days live after another fashion.
My table alone stands me in a cool thousand a quarter, though I raise
my own stock, import my own liquors, and have every thing at the first
hand.--True it is, I keep open house, and receive all comers, for the
honour of Old England.’ ‘If that be the case (said I), ‘tis a wonder you
can maintain it at so small an expence; but every private gentleman is
not expected to keep a caravanserai for the accommodation of travellers:
indeed, if every individual lived in the same stile, you would not have
such a number of guests at your table, of consequence your hospitality
would not shine so bright for the glory of the West Riding.’ The
young ‘squire, tickled by this ironical observation, exclaimed, ‘O che
burla!’--his mother eyed me in silence with a supercilious air; and
the father of the feast, taking a bumper of October, ‘My service to you,
cousin Bramble (said he), I have always heard there was something keen
and biting in the air of the Welch mountains.’
I was much pleased with the count de Melville, who is sensible, easy,
and polite; and the countess is the most amiable woman I ever beheld.
In the afternoon they took leave of their entertainers, and the young
gentleman, mounting his horse, undertook to conduct their coach through
the park, while one of their servants rode round to give notice to the
rest, whom they had left at a public house on the road. The moment
their backs were turned, the censorious daemon took possession of our
Yorkshire landlady and our sister Tabitha--The former observed, that
the countess was a good sort of a body, but totally ignorant of good
breeding, consequently aukward in her address. The squire said, he did
not pretend to the breeding of any thing but colts; but that the jade
would be very handsome, if she was a little more in flesh. ‘Handsome!
(cried Tabby) she has indeed a pair of black eyes without any meaning;
but then there is not a good feature in her face.’ ‘I know not what you
call good features in Wales (replied our landlord); but they’ll pass in
Yorkshire.’ Then turning to Liddy, he added, ‘What say you, my pretty
Redstreak?--what is your opinion of the countess?’ ‘I think (cried
Liddy, with great emotion), she’s an angel.’ Tabby chid her for talking
with such freedom in company; and the lady of the house said, in a
contemptuous tone, she supposed miss had been brought up at some country
boarding-school.
Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by the young gentleman,
who galloped into the yard all aghast, exclaiming, that the coach was
attacked by a great number of highwaymen. My nephew and I rushed out,
found his own and his servant’s horse ready saddled in the stable, with
pistols in the caps--We mounted instantly, ordering Clinker and Dutton
to follow with all possible expedition; but notwithstanding all the
speed we could make, the action was over before we arrived, and the
count with his lady, safe lodged at the house of Grieve, who had
signalized himself in a very remarkable manner on this occasion. At the
turning of a lane, that led to the village where the count’s servants
remained, a couple of robbers a-horseback suddenly appeared, with their
pistols advanced: one kept the coachman in awe, and the other demanded
the count’s money, while the young ‘squire went off at full speed,
without ever casting a look behind. The count desiring the thief to
withdraw his pistol, as the lady was in great terror, delivered his
purse without making the least resistance; but not satisfied with this
booty, which was pretty considerable, the rascal insisted upon rifling
her of her car-rings and necklace, and the countess screamed with
affright. Her husband, exasperated at the violence with which she was
threatened, wrested the pistol out of the fellow’s hand, and turning it
upon him, snapped it in his face; but the robber knowing there was no
charge in it, drew another from his bosom, and in all probability would
have killed him on the spot, had not his life been saved by a wonderful
interposition. Grieve, the apothecary, chancing to pass that very
instant, ran up to the coach, and with a crab-stick, which was all the
weapon he had, brought the fellow to the ground with the first blow;
then seizing his pistol, presented it at his colleague, who fired his
piece at random, and fled without further opposition. The other was
secured by the assistance of the count and the coachman; and his legs
being tied under the belly of his own horse, Grieve conducted him to
the village, whither also the carriage proceeded. It was with great
difficulty the countess could be kept from swooning; but at last she was
happily conveyed to the house of the apothecary, who went into the shop
to prepare some drops for her, while his wife and daughter administered
to her in another apartment.
I found the count standing in the kitchen with the parson of the parish,
and expressing much impatience to see his protector, whom as yet he had
scarce found time to thank for the essential service he had done him
and the countess.--The daughter passing at the same time with a glass of
water, monsieur de Melville could not help taking notice of her figure,
which was strikingly engaging.--‘Ay (said the parson), she is the
prettiest girl, and the best girl in all my parish: and if I could give
my son an estate of ten thousand a year, he should have my consent to
lay it at her feet. If Mr Grieve had been as solicitious about getting
money, as he has been in performing all the duties of a primitive
Christian, he would not have hung so long upon his hands.’ ‘What is her
name?’ said I. ‘Sixteen years ago (answered the vicar) I christened her
by the names of Seraphina Melvilia.’ ‘Ha! what! how! (cried the count
eagerly) sure, you said Seraphina Melvilia.’ ‘I did (said he); Mr Grieve
told me those were the names of two noble persons abroad, to whom he had
been obliged for more than life.’
The count, without speaking another syllable, rushed into the parlour,
crying, ‘This is your god-daughter, my dear.’ Mrs Grieve, then seizing
the countess by the hand, exclaimed with great agitation, ‘O madam! O
sir!--I am--I am your poor Elinor.--This is my Seraphina Melvilia O
child! these are the count and countess of Melville, the generous the
glorious benefactors of thy once unhappy parents.’
The countess rising from her scat threw her arms about the neck of the
amiable Seraphina, and clasped her to her breast with great tenderness,
while she herself was embraced by the weeping mother. This moving scene
was completed by the entrance of Grieve himself, who falling on his
knees before the count, ‘Behold (said he) a penitent, who at length
can look upon his patron without shrinking.’ ‘Ah, Ferdinand! (cried he,
raising and folding him in his arms) the playfellow of my infancy--the
companion of my youth!--Is it to you then I am indebted for my
life?’ ‘Heaven has heard my prayer (said the other), and given me an
opportunity to prove myself not altogether unworthy of your clemency and
protection.’ He then kissed the hand of the countess, while monsieur
de Melville saluted his wife and lovely daughter, and all of us were
greatly affected by this pathetic recognition.
In a word, Grieve was no other than Ferdinand count Fathom, whose
adventures were printed many years ago. Being a sincere convert to
virtue, he had changed his name, that he might elude the enquiries of
the count, whose generous allowance he determined to forego, that he
might have no dependence but upon his own industry and moderation. He
had accordingly settled in this village as a practitioner in surgery and
physic, and for some years wrestled with all the miseries of indigence,
which, however, he and his wife had borne with the most exemplary
resignation. At length, by dint of unwearied attention to the duties of
his profession, which he exercised with equal humanity and success, he
had acquired tolerable share of business among the farmers and common
people, which enabled him to live in a decent manner. He had been scarce
ever seen to smile; was unaffectedly pious; and all the time he could
spare from the avocations of his employment, he spent in educating
his daughter, and in studying for his own improvement. In short, the
adventurer Fathom was, under the name of Grieve, universally respected
among the commonalty of this district, as a prodigy of learning and
virtue. These particulars I learned from the vicar, when we quitted the
room, that they might be under no restraint in their mutual effusions.
I make no doubt that Grieve will be pressed to leave off business,
and re-unite himself to the count’s family; and as the countess seemed
extremely fond of his daughter, she will, in all probability, insist
upon Seraphina’s accompanying her to Scotland.
Having paid our compliments to these noble persons, we returned to the
‘squire’s, where we expected an invitation to pass the night, which was
wet and raw; but it seems, ‘squire Burdock’s hospitality reached not so
far for the honour of Yorkshire; we therefore departed in the evening,
and lay at an inn, where I caught cold.
In hope of riding it down before it could take fast hold on my
constitution, I resolved to visit another relation, one Mr Pimpernel,
who lived about a dozen miles from the place where we lodged. Pimpernel
being the youngest of four sons, was bred an attorney at Furnival’s inn;
but all his elder brothers dying, he got himself called to the bar for
the honour of his family, and soon after this preferment, succeeded to
his father’s estate which was very considerable. He carried home with
him all the knavish chicanery of the lowest pettifogger, together with
a wife whom he had purchased of a drayman for twenty pounds; and he soon
found means to obtain a dedimus as an acting justice of peace. He is not
only a sordid miser in his disposition, but his avarice is mingled
with a spirit of despotism, which is truly diabolical.--He is a brutal
husband, an unnatural parent, a harsh master, an oppressive landlord, a
litigious neighbour, and a partial magistrate. Friends he has none;
and in point of hospitality and good breeding, our cousin Burdock is a
prince in comparison of this ungracious miscreant, whose house is the
lively representation of a gaol. Our reception was suitable to the
character I have sketched. Had it depended upon the wife, we should have
been kindly treated.--She is really a good sort of a woman, in spite
of her low original, and well respected in the country; but she has not
interest enough in her own house to command a draught of table beer,
far less to bestow any kind of education on her children, who run about,
like tagged colts, in a state of nature.--Pox on him! he is such a dirty
fellow, that I have not patience to prosecute the subject.
By that time we reached Harrigate, I began to be visited by certain
rheumatic symptoms. The Scotch lawyer, Mr Micklewhimmen, recommended a
hot bath of these waters so earnestly, that I was over-persuaded to try
the experiment.--He had used it often with success and always stayed an
hour in the bath, which was a tub filled with Harrigate water, heated
for the purpose. If I could hardly bear the smell of a single tumbler
when cold, you may guess how my nose was regaled by the streams arising
from a hot bath of the same fluid. At night, I was conducted into a dark
hole on the ground floor, where the tub smoaked and stunk like the pot
of Acheron, in one corner, and in another stood a dirty bed provided
with thick blankets, in which I was to sweat after coming out of the
bath. My heart seemed to die within me when I entered this dismal
bagnio, and found my brain assaulted by such insufferable effluvia. I
cursed Micklewhimmen for not considering that my organs were formed on
this side of the Tweed; but being ashamed to recoil upon the threshold,
I submitted to the process.
After having endured all but real suffocation for above a quarter of an
hour in the tub, I was moved to the bed and wrapped in blankets.--There
I lay a full hour panting with intolerable heat; but not the least
moisture appearing on my skin, I was carried to my own chamber, and
passed the night without closing an eye, in such a flutter of spirits as
rendered me the most miserable wretch in being. I should certainly
have run distracted, if the rarefaction of my blood, occasioned by
that Stygian bath, had not burst the vessels, and produced a violent
haemorrhage, which, though dreadful and alarming, removed the horrible
disquiet--I lost two pounds of blood, and more, on this occasion; and
find myself still weak and languid; but, I believe, a little exercise
will forward my recovery, and therefore I am resolved to set out
to-morrow for York, in my way to Scarborough, where I propose to brace
up my fibres by sea-bathing, which, I know, is one of your favourite
specificks. There is, however, one disease, for which you have found as
yet no specific, and that is old age, of which this tedious unconnected
epistle is an infallible symptom: what, therefore, cannot be cured, must
be endured, by you, as well as by
Yours, MATT. BRAMBLE HARRIGATE, June 26.
To Sir WATKIN PHILLIPS, Bart. of Jesus college, Oxon.